


you must have been looking for me (sending smoke signals)

by nucodiangelo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, M/M, Multi, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Slow Burn, Train meet cute, eddie is a surgeon, richie works at a radio station, subway romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nucodiangelo/pseuds/nucodiangelo
Summary: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you / I missed you for twenty-nine years.- The National, “Slow Show”AKA Eddie and Richie has somehow not met yet despite having common friends. Richie sees Eddie on the subway one day and is very taken with him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	you must have been looking for me (sending smoke signals)

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is like romanticizing public transport. The train meet-cute fic no one asked for. 
> 
> title is from the Phoebe Bridgers song Smoke Signals.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Everyday by Buddy Holly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing something different with this fic, as it's a sort of fusion of a normal fic and a social media au! Every text conversation will be visual, let me know what you think of that ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

“I can’t believe this is our last week of taking the train together in the morning.” Richie huffs, stepping down onto the stairs down to the subway station, then almost slips and eats shit on the ice covering them. Stan catches his left arm, holding him up as he finds his footing again.

“You alright?” Stan chuckles, letting go of Richie’s arm when he nods bashfully, “It will truly be the end of an era.” He agrees solemnly, sipping his coffee. Stan’s wearing proper winter boots, not converse like Richie, and has no problem navigating down the icy stairs.

Richie grins, “Who will make sure I don’t miss my stop from now on?”

They’ve reached the platform, which is already milling with people on their way to school or work, in the dewy coldness of early morning. It’s a Friday in the middle of November, and New York seems to have frozen over completely over the night, meaning most of the people on the platform are heavily bundled up in scarves, hats and big coats. There’s a woman wearing a huge fluffy coat in a blinding yellow colour, and Richie sort of wants to walk up to her and ask her where she got it. It seems like something Bev would wear, and look absolutely amazing in. Richie scrunches up his frozen nose and shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his puffer jacket. Stan had gotten him gloves for his birthday, earlier that year, but with Richie’s whole Thing, he keeps forgetting them on the dresser in the hallway. The whole point of leaving them on the dresser in the first place was so they would be right by the door when he left in the morning.

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Stan says, “You’re almost thirty. You should be able to get on and off the subway by yourself.”

Richie glances at him, “You know who you’re talking to, right?”

Stan grimaces, “Yeah, never mind. You’re a lost cause.”

“Your fault for getting a new fancy job.” Richie snickers, raising his shoulders up so the neckline of his jacket covers his ears, trying desperately to keep warm. He glances up at the board. The train is delayed. “Would you look at that, I’m going to be late for work.”

Stan groans, “Richie, you have been late every single day for the past four months. I keep telling you to just get the train before mine, but you won’t listen to me.”

“We’re train buddies! No one cares that I’m five minutes late, anyways. Or ten, like today. Kath is never in before ten anyways, and Bev would never snitch.” Richie waves him off, “Maybe I’ll start being on time now that you’re leaving me for another train.”

“Or you could take up Ben’s offer to drive you. It would let you sleep in longer, and you would actually get to the radio station in time for your shift.” Stan shrugs, taking another sip of coffee. 

“If I let Ben drive me to work every day, I’ll be stuck listening to him and Bev dance around each other for half-an-hour in stand-still New York morning traffic. I already spend too much of my life dealing with their whole situation, I’m not subjecting myself to more. There would be nowhere for me to go to scream.” He huffs, stomping his boots against the frozen ground, trying to regain some feeling in his frozen toes. It doesn’t work. There’s a curl poking out from under his hat and it’s tickling his cheekbone. 

“You could stick your head out the window.”

“Or I could simply not be stuck in the car with them. The train is fine.”

“I guess you’re right. I suppose Kay will cover for you, if you’re too late.” Stan says, checking his watch quickly, “Where is that fucking train? Now _I_ might be late.”

“I’m being serious though, Stan. I’ll miss this.” Richie takes a long sip of his coffee, burning his tongue slightly, “I’ll miss you bringing me coffee in the morning, and I’ll miss making up with backstories and imagining what the life of early morning commuters are with you. It’s the best part of my weekdays.”

The train slides noisily onto the platform, doors pinging loudly before sliding open. Stan grabs the arm of Richie’s jacket and pulls him forcefully on board, elbowing New Yorkers out of the way to get them a seat. Richie happily lets himself be pulled along, calling out a quick apology to some poor sucker that gets in Stan’s way. They sit down at the last front facing row in the back of the carriage, and Stan lets Richie have the window seat, even though his stop is before Stan’s.

“I know.” Stan says, when the doors close and the train pulls out of the platform. “It’s going to be pretty boring getting to work from now on.”

“Aw, are you saying you actually enjoy seeing me first thing in the morning?” Richie grins, bumping his shoulder into Stan’s. “Don’t go soft on me, Urine.”

“I will push you off this train right now.” Stan grumbles, “Don’t be all corny just because I’m indulging your sincerity.”

“Oh, we’re being sincere? Didn’t know you were capable of that.” Richie laughs, “I’m just saying I enjoy that you provide me with coffee and that you make sure I don’t sleep past my stop. I’m basically admitting to using you.”

Stan scoffs, but it sounds genuine, “Don’t I know it. You’ll probably start coming over for dinner every night now, just to get your daily dose of annoying me.”

“What can I say? I’m addicted to your grumpy little face and exasperated sighs. Plus, I’ll get to see more of Patty.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Stan.

Stan blushes furiously, and coughs loudly before asking, “Do you want to do the thing? Coming up with stories?” The tip of his nose is red, and his hat is pulled down low over his forehead. Richie leans over and pulls it up a bit.

“You don’t want to listen to your super interesting and not at all boring podcast about the native birds of South America?” Richie teases once he leans back into his seat, “Sure thing. I’ll start.” He looks around the carriage. There’s only a few people in there with them, a few tired looking college students with their headphones in, an old lady with a roller-backpack, some wall-street looking guys, and a lady with an empty stroller.

“I think that woman might have forgotten her baby at home.” Richie chuckles, “At least someone is worse than me at remembering stuff.”

Stan coughs loudly to cover up how hard that makes him snort, “I know for a fact that you would do that if you ever, god forbid, have children. I’ll have to call you every morning to make sure you’ve dropped them off at pre-school, and not like, left them at the bodega.”

Richie grins, “Absolutely. That’s why I’m not having kids. I would probably forget to feed them for days, and then they’ll be taken away and I have to go into a long legal battle to get them back. I _won’t_ win.”

Stan laughs, “Child services will take one look into your fridge and refuse you the right to ever have children in your care ever again.”

“Hey, I went grocery shopping yesterday! With Bev.”

“And what did you get?”

“Uh. Cold brew, like twelve ice cream bars and doritos,” Richie mumbles, “But to be fair, Bev was distracting me. Her and Ben went to see a movie this weekend and she spent all of yesterday overanalysing what it meant when he brushed his hand against hers on the armrest during the trailers.”

“Of course she did.” Stan nods, “Why can’t those two just listen to us when we tell them that they’re hopelessly in love with each other? How many years have we been trying to help them get together now?”

“Too many. Cheers to many more.” Richie laughs, bumping his coffee cup against Stan’s. They both drink. “Anyways, that dude. Over there. Huge black puffer jacket, drowning in his scarf.” He points slightly with his coffee at a man sitting on the left horizontal facing seats a few feet away from them, and Stan nods in confirmation, “I can’t see his face but. Expensive clothes, for sure. Bet those shiny shoes cost more than my monthly rent, including the cable and water bill. So, he’s probably some Wall-Street guy. Lots of hair gel, so maybe accounting?”

“Do you even know what accounting is?” Stan asks, eyebrow arched judgmentally, “Also, do you know any other street in the financial district?”

Richie waves his hand through the air dismissively, “I don’t know, something to do with numbers. Transactions and taxes, boring stuff like that.”

Stan nods, “Sure, something like that.”

“Ok, so _Wall-Street_ guy, because I one-hundred percent do _not_ know other streets in the financial district, because I am poor and a communist. There’s no ring on his finger, so unmarried. He’s probably in a relationship that is comfortable but lacks passion. He’s grown complacent and bored, and she doesn’t notice anything is wrong. Might propose soon, just to make his parents happy. Has a goldfish.”

Stan interrupts his observations with a surprised smile on his face, “Why a goldfish?”

“Least exciting pet there is.”

“What about a phasmatodea?” Stan asks, and then, at Richie’s confused face, says, “Stick insects.”

“Oh, no, those little guys are way too funky for a man like that.” Richie grins, “He has a goldfish, that he probably hasn’t even named, even though he’s had it for two years. He feeds it every day at exactly the same time, and he probably never forgets his gloves when he leaves the house.”

“That’s an odd addition.”

“Well, maybe I’m projecting a bit. I’m freezing my fingertips off here.” Richie grumbles, wrapping both hands around his rapidly cooling coffee, “I need my fingertips. They’re my money makers.”

Stan frowns at that but decides not to comment on it. “Alright. He’s not wearing any right now, though.” He nods his head towards the stranger.

Richie looks over at him again, and notes that there’s a pair of brown leather gloves sticking out of his pockets, matching the brown leather briefcase on his lap. Richie points this out to Stan, triumphantly. The stranger shifts slightly in his seat, and now Richie can see more of his face. Prominent eyebrows, one large eye, mouth in a hard line, staring down at his phone, tapping intently.

“He’s probably answering work emails right now, so workaholic. Probably checks his emails first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening. They probably have to force him to leave his office in the afternoons. He has five thousand vacation days saved up that he’ll probably never use, except for a formidable three days for his inevitable boring honeymoon where he’ll partake in very formidable missionary sex with his new wife for exactly ten minutes.” Richie says, “Hey, did you read that survey that said the average time straight couples have sex is seven minutes and thirty seconds? Five without foreplay. I can’t believe them!”

“You linked it to me, so yes I read it. It’s truly sad.” Stan rolls his eyes, “You’re being very judgemental of this complete stranger. You can’t make everyone who looks like they make more money than you a bore. I make more money than you, and I’m the most delightful man you know.”

“College students with part-time jobs make more money than me, Stan. Also, that’s a bit of a stretch. You’re like the fourth most delightful man I know that makes more money than me. The list goes, Ben, Mike, my therapist, and _then_ you.” Richie laughs. “And let’s not even begin with the list of most delightful men I know, whatever their paycheck is.”

“Well, you’re at the bottom on all of my lists.” Stan grumbles, only making Richie laugh harder. He decides not to make the very obvious bottom joke opportunity Stan has given him. It’s not always worth taking cheap shots, and Richie’s too sleepy to be his wittiest self.

“Ok then, I’ll give him some nice qualities too. He’s pretty, from what I can see. Probably has a bunch of secret admirers at the office, but he’s too busy being married to his job to notice the way his female co-workers will stop by his desk with coffee for him, or the way one of the few gay guys he works with chats him up by the copy machine. He probably just thinks they’re being intrusive and unprofessional.”

“Might I add anything to this fascinating caricature you’ve painted of this poor stanger?” Stan asks, looking amused.

“Go ahead, Stan the Man.”

“He has a gay best friend.” Stan smiles.

“Like, in a romcom kind of way?” Richie asks, very intrigued with this plotline.

“Nope. If he isn’t queer himself, he’s one of those super supporting allies. Goes to every pride event, has a little gay flag on his desk, donates monthly to LGBTQ+ organizations.” Stan smirks, “But his best friend is gay. I’m thinking bisexual woman or homosexual man.”

Richie nods, impressed, “I’m leaning homosexual.”

“I know you are.” Stan snorts, looking very pleased with himself when Richie laughs loudly at the joke. Apparently not all cheap shots are off the table this morning, Richie notes. 

“I’m kind of obsessed with him now.” Richie says, looking over at the stranger. The woman with the stroller has moved slightly, so she’s shielding most of him from Richie’s view. Still, he can clearly see the strangers tense facial expression, “Do you think he has his pronouns in his Instagram bio?”

“Oh, yeah, if he’s even on any social media besides LinkedIn. But he’s put it as ‘ _he and his and him’_. Or it’s in his display name, because he has no sense of visually pleasing social media profiles.” Stan smiles, “Like some overly supportive, well meaning, dad of a nonbinary teenager.”

“Love it.” Richie laughs, “Do you think he signs every work email with his name and pronouns?”

“Probably.” Stan says, deadpanned, “I do that.”

Richie grins, “I know you do that. You have forwarded one too many official work emails from your incompetend coworkers when you need someone to hack on them with you. I know your signature by hand. It’s a very sweet gesture. Normalizing it, and all that.” He grins.

Stan just nods seriously, but doesn’t say anything.

“I think he wears reading glasses. He reluctantly got them because of his doctor’s recommendation, and they’re those slim, wireframed, rectangular, dad glasses. He looks incredibly sexy wearing them.”

“In this scenario you are clearly imagining yourself in, are you in his apartment late at night watching him read a crime book?”

Richie grins, “Yes. I seduced him, right here on the train, and he left his girlfriend for me. We live in a quaint apartment together in Brooklyn, and we adopted a senior cat together, called Princess Diana or like, Potato. His fish disappears mysteriously during the first month of us living together, and we pretend like we don’t know what happened to it, because Princess Di slash Potato means more to us than the fish ever did.” He sighs dreamily, “ _And_ he’s reading some grocery store sci-fi novel I picked out for him while picking up milk on my way back from work, not a crime book, thank you very much.”

“Lovely.” Stan says, dry as sand, “I’m very happy for the two of you.”

“Thanks, Stan. We’ll have you and Patty over for cheese and wine night once a month.” Richie grins.

“I should have figured you weren’t being judgemental of him. You’re obsessed with him, aren’t you? The shiny shoes and carefully gelled hair is totally doing it for you!”

“Oh, shit, this is my stop!” Richie yelps, and gets up from his seat, crawling over Stan’s lap, ignoring his loud complaints, and walks over to the doors behind their seats, “I’ll see you tonight? For Audra’s thing?”

“Yes. Ben’s driving us at eight.” Stan says, not even turning around, “I’ll text you at lunch. Be a good boy today. Make sure the station plays some _The Who_ for me.”

Richie snorts, and gets a weird look from the girl in the seat next to the door, “I always am. I’ll queue _I Don’t Even Know Myself_. Talk to you later, Stannie.”

Richie jumps out the open doors and onto the platform, waving at Stan through the window. Stan smiles back at him, waving reluctantly, then fishes his phone and headphones out of his pocket to listen to his podcast, like he does every single day. Richie takes one last look at the stranger through the window as the train pulls away, a little startled to see the stranger look back at him. He must have put his phone away, because his entire doe-eyed attention is fixed on Richie, a tight little smile on his lips. Richie looks at him until the train disappears into the tunnel towards Seaport and then whips his phone from his pocket and opens his text chain with Stan.

Eddie knows someone’s looking at him. The train shakes slightly over the tracks as it slows down to stop, and the back of his neck prickles, warning him that he’s being watched. Someone’s having a loud conversation at the back of the carriage as the doors open. He glances up from the text he was writing to Mike, and looks around. There’s a frazzled looking woman with an empty stroller standing by the open space next to his seat, and he wonders briefly what she needs a stroller for if she didn’t bring a child to put in it. Directly across from him in the other horizontal seats, two men in suits and wool coats are having a hushed argument about something that, from the looks of their tense faces, is a serious matter. Behind the woman with the stroller, a curly haired man wearing a green hat is busy putting on a headset, clearly ready to listen to something, music or a podcast. Eddie narrows his eyes, maybe his instincts were wrong. He happens to glance out the window ahead of him as the train beeps to signal the doors closing, and sees a man out on the platform. He’s bundled up in an oversized light pink puffer jacket, and the rest of his outfit is black, shoes, jeans and knitted hat. He happens to snap his eyes up to meet Eddie’s, and his eyes go very wide, like he’s been caught in the middle of something. Eddie can’t help the way the corners of his eyes pull upwards at the expression on the man's face. When the train starts moving again, Eddie goes back to his text conversation.

The rest of Richie’s morning is completely uneventful. Kay and Bev are brewing coffee when he gets into work, so he refills his reusable coffee cup, and they sit out back for a while smoking cigarettes, listening to the station’s morning programme on the portable radio they brought with them outside. When the clock strikes nine, Kay goes inside to get ready for her hour, and Bev and Richie get started on sorting records and answering emails. Some dude in his forties has sent five long emails about how little hard metal they play, which Richie has to respond to with a _yeah, dude, we’re not a metal station, sorry._ Dani and Mitch come in at eleven, with a tray of large iced coffees from the hipster place down the street for everyone, and they take over for Kay for the friday lunch-show, and Richie tells them to play The Who for Stan. Bev and Richie go out to lunch around noon, getting falafel in pitas with hummus from the truck a few blocks away, and sit on the curb outside the station as they eat, where Bev tells him about her realistically uneventful commute with Ben that morning.

“I told him about my upcoming interview, and he leaned over the console to pat me on my knee!” Bev coughs, spraying hummus all over the sidewalk, “Like, who does that?”

Richie laughs and wipes some hummus off his jeans, “Normal people? I think. I touch you all the time.”

“Yeah, but. I’m not in love with you.” She says, eyes wide.

Richie scowls playfully, “Aw, that hurts my feelings.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, Tozier.”

“That’s what your mom said last night.”

“My mom died when I was seven, you asshole.”

“Welp. And I’m gay, so your dead mom’s not the only problem in that equation.” Richie shrugs, and digs back into his pita. This makes Bev laugh so hard she has to lay her head in his lap as she shakes uncontrollably.

“No, but seriously Bev. How is he supposed to know that touching you casually affects you this much when you haven’t told him you’re in love with him?” Richie asks once she’s calmed down. 

She huffs stubbornly, taking a huge bite of pita and chews it for unnecessarily long, “Just let me complain, asshole.” She says when she finally swallows, “I’ll tell him eventually. I just don’t think that the car at eight in the morning while we’re both half-asleep is the best setting for a love confession.”

“How about in the car at four in the afternoon? You won’t believe how many times I’ve almost proposed to Stan on the subway, just because the midday traffic is so sexy.”

“Fuck off.”

He grins at her, “You just gotta set the mood yourself. Invite him for dinner. Go for a walk. I don’t know! Invite him over to your apartment for a movie, and play footsie with him under the blanket for an hour before finally having worked up the guts to nervously touch his pinky with yours. Real college romance shit.”

“That’s fitting, since I haven’t done this shit since college.” She huffs, wiping her fingers with the napkin that was wrapped around the pita, “ _You know_ , when I confessed my undying love for Kay and she told me she was moving to Boston to be with Audra at Harvard, breaking my heart, my pride and my confidence all in one. And she was so fucking nice about it too. Bitch.” She’s scowling, but her voice is very fond. 

Richie remembers that very well, being the person who had to clean up the collateral damage resulting from Kay and Audra’s sudden love affair. Both Bill and Bev had been heartbroken, and then had the terrible idea that they should hook up, which ended up horribly and almost broke their friend group apart with how awkward it made everything. Bev had spent two full weeks sleeping in Richie’s bed, barely eating and chain smoking out his open dorm window. They were in their early twenties when they met, Bev and him, and they were instantly attached at the hip, and concerningly co-dependant. It wasn’t until they met Stan and Ben during their freshman year at Grad school that they relented a bit in their obsession with each other. Stan and Ben were getting their PhDs, and Bev and Richie had just started on their Masters degrees, and they all had needed roommates. He was eternally grateful, every day since Grad school, that he didn’t live with the two of them anymore. Bev had moved in with Patty at the end of their fifth semester, giving Stan and Richie a bit of a breather from the romcom drama that was their everyday lives.

Richie just grins, “So what you’re saying is that you have love-confession trauma?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I have it on pretty good authority that he’s in love with you too.” Richie says, finishing his food. 

“Has he told you that?” She asks, eyes wide and cheeks a deep red colour. 

“No, not really. But he gets all red and stuttery when I ask him about it. Which is pretty overt. Hey, remember when you wanted to shave your head after Kay broke your heart, and I shaved mine in solidarity? We should hit that level of rock-bottom again.”

She sighs loudly, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I need more coffee.”

He finishes the work day around four, spending at least half-an-hour past his shift helping Bev out in the sound booth, and then decides to walk over to Ben’s office to catch a ride home, feeling safe in the knowledge that Bev’s not going to be in the car with them. It isn’t like they’re intolerable together, not by a long shot. But Richie has spent almost every day since they started Grad school dealing with them dancing around each other, and now, at 28, he’s tired of playing the cheeky host of a romance gameshow, and will quite literally lock them in a closet together until they figure their shit out, if they don’t do it on their own soon.

“You going to Audra’s thing tonight?” He asks once they drive out of the parking garage in Ben’s ridiculously huge SUV. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he’s grateful to be in a car large enough for his size. 

“I’m driving everyone there, am I not?” Ben chuckles.

“I know you are.” Richie says, “But you’re staying right? I know clubs aren’t quite your thing.”

“Not yours either, if I remember correctly.” Ben glances over at him, a meaningful arch to his eyebrows.

“Yeah, we’re all socially anxious fucks who prefer to sit at a quiet dive bar drinking together in a secluded booth.” Richie hums, “But I gotta support my friends, and Audra insisted her set is pretty chill tonight. Plus, she gets paid in free drinks, so I won’t have to pay a dime except for the entry fee.”

Ben nods his head, “Oh, well then I’m sold.”

“You’re so easy.” Richie teases.

“How was work?” Ben asks politely, as if he isn’t painfully aware that every day in Richie’s life isn’t practically the same. Richie’s stomach churns uncomfortably, and he has to force himself to not think about the fact that he’s almost thirty, getting paid minimum wage to sort music, pick up coffee, reply to emails and mess around with the soundboard, and can’t leave his stupid job to follow his dream because he’s completely co-dependant on his friends who work with him. The station won’t even let him do his own show even though he’s been working there for five years, and the ratings of Kay’s show is always better when she has him as a guest.

“It was alright. Had to block some dude from sending the station emails about heavy metal. Bev spit hummus on me at lunch.” Richie hums, leaning forwards to fuck with the air-conditioning.

Ben glances quickly at him, “When does Stan start his new fancy job?”

“New fancy job says the self-employed award-winning architect who puts the rest of his bummy friends to shame.” Richie scoffs, “He starts on Monday.”

Ben pointedly does not respond to the first part of what Richie just said, if it’s because of the bummy comment or the fact that Ben’s horrible with praise, Richie isn’t sure of. He just nods his head, “Do you want to start catching a ride with me to work?”

Richie grimaces, but Ben’s turned away from his, so he doesn’t see it, “Maybe. I’ll try catching the train on my own next week, just to see how I feel about it. There’s a cute fancy looking man that takes the 8am line 2 subway, so.”

Ben huffs a quiet laugh, “Of course there is.”

Eddie’s weekend is overwhelmingly busy. He doesn’t get off work until about eight in the evening on Friday, and there’s an emergency with the tracks at his transfer stop on Hoyt-Schermerhorn Sts, and it takes him about two hours to get home. He orders Thai food the second he walks through the door of his apartment, collapsing on the touch. He spends the rest of the evening cuddled up with the cats watching X-Files reruns on the TV. Mike sends him a ridiculous number of pics from the club, and Eddie saves the one of Bill slumped over one of their friends at a booth, looking near death, onto his phone as blackmail material for later. Mike has graciously named the picture _four tequila shots and two margaritas into the night_. Eddie replies with a thumbs up emoji, and puts his phone down so he can pet Margaret, who’s perched on his chest, between the ears, and is lulled to sleep by her deep purring. 

He wakes up on Saturday morning to his phone vibrating in the seat next to him. His back screams at him as he sits up, disoriented and uncomfortable, still in his jeans and on the couch, with all the cats curled up around him. He picks up the phone without looking at the caller-ID.

“Hello? Edward Kaspbrak speaking.” His voice comes out as a tired mumble. He really hopes it isn’t work calling him in for an emergency. If he hears Kim’s chirpy voice greet him from the other line, he will quite literally quit his job on the spot. 

“Oh, good morning sunshine.” Mike laughs, “Rough night?”

Eddie frowns at the implied joke, “Fell asleep on the couch with the cats. Just woke up.”

Mike hums, “Well, Bill got so drunk he spent most of the night throwing up. He also somehow managed to rip our toilet seat off. I turned around for a second, and the next thing I knew he was on the floor clutching the seat.”

“Sounds like he had a hoot last night.” Eddie chuckles, and then grimaces at himself. _Hoot_?

“Yeah, well. Bill’s a bit ruined today, but he’s up and moving. When are you able to come over?”

Eddie pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the time, and frowns. He slept in a bit longer than he normally does on his days off. “Uh, I’ll have to shower and eat. I didn’t get to clean up properly after work. Had a pretty complicated surgery, so. I can be there around noon?”

“Sounds good. We still have a few more boxes to pack.” Mike says, “How did surgery go?”

“It was successful.”

“That’s all that matters, I suppose.” Mike hums, “Hey, could you pick up a new toilet seat on your way over? I’ll text you a screenshot of the one we need. I would very much like to keep our deposit.”

Eddie chuckles, “Sure. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

He picks himself off the couch, brushing cat hair off the thighs of his jeans, and picks up the takeout containers to throw them out. All the cats follow him around the apartment as he cleans, makes himself coffee, and toasts some bread for breakfast. They meow in a deafening chorus as he fills up their water and food bowls, clawing at his legs in a passionate fit of hunger.

“Who trained you guys?” Eddie huffs fondly, “No manners.”

Once he and the cats have eaten, he takes a quick military shower. Under the stream, turning it off to soap himself up, and then rinsing quickly. After a few years working at the hospital, he’s gotten used to taking short, quick, cold showers in the personnel bathroom between surgeries and over-night shifts. There isn’t much time for self-care and indulgences in his daily routine, especially not when he sleeps in late.

He picks up the toilet seat Mike sends a picture of on his way over to Bill and Mike’s apartment, listening to the radio on his ride. The lunch hour of Kay’s programme is on, and she’s playing good music, so Eddie lets himself relax a bit in his seat and hum along. He immediately regrets offering to help Bill and Mike move when he steps into their apartment and sees all the boxes stacked along the bare walls. Most of them are marked _books_ , and probably weigh more than Eddie.

“Here’s the toilet seat.” Eddie says to a very rumpled looking Bill, who blushes and takes it from him.

“Thanks.” He coughs. His face is very pale, and his eyes are bloodshot from extorting himself while throwing up last night. Eddie grins, feeling content in the knowledge that while he feels like absolutely shit himself, Bill feels worse.

“Why did you let him drink like that the night before your moving day?” He asks Mike, who’s in their kitchen pulling down wine glasses for Eddie to wrap in bubble wrap.

“It’s funny how you think I can stop him.” Mike grins down at him from his ladder, “Also, our friends are horrible influences. Richie thought it was very funny to keep buying him shots.”

Eddie rakes his brain for the name, but comes up empty, “Who?”

“Uh, he works at the radio station with Bev and Kay. We’ve hung out a few times this past year. He’s a funny guy. I think you would like him.”

Eddie furrows his brows at that. Eddie doesn’t typically _like_ people. It’s a wonder he even has the friends he does now. It’s not like he’s mean, in his own humble opinion. But he knows he’s a lot. He knows he’s an acquired taste. Mike and Bill are weird enough people themselves to see past all the ways in which Eddie is an absolute menace of a human being. It’s nice, Eddie decided when he met them during his undergrad, to have people who see you, know your every fault, and still love you.

“Sure.” Eddie says, almost forgetting what Mike had just said, “Well, I sure hope someone else is coming to help us carry all these boxes, because Bill isn’t going to be much help in his state, and I slept practically sitting up.”

Mike glances over to where Bill is sitting, rigid and quiet, on their couch, and looks entirely affectionate, “Yeah. Beverly and Ben are coming any minute now.”

“Good. Ben looks strong.”

“Oh, he is.”

The boxes of books are indeed heavier than Eddie can manage, so he leaves those to Ben and Mike, who seem to have no problem with them. He, Beverly and Bill get the king bed out the door, but need help from one of Bill and Mike’s neighbours to get it down the four flights of stairs and into the van outside. Beverly is very fun, and immediately understands Eddie’s vibe and easily matches his energy, and makes him laugh so hard his abdominal muscles hurt. No one who went to Audra’s DJ gig looks even close to as hungover as Bill does, and they all poke fun at him for it. Ben and Mike were roommates during their undergrad, just like Eddie and Bill, and Ben and Bev had apparently been roommates during Grad school. Eddie remembers Bev from college, but only because she and Bill had hooked up a few times after their crushes had fallen in love with each other. Post-college all four of them, Mike, Bill, Ben and Bev, had been reconnected through their other roommates in later years. Eddie learns that they’re a big group of friends who see each other a few times a week, and he thinks, a little sadly, that if he worked less and got out of the house more he might have been invited along to those gatherings. 

It’s not like Eddie never gets the invites. Bill and Mike both text him every week to update him on their social plans, and Ben sends him a text every now and then. But it’s just that all his friends generally assume that he’s at work. Which is understandable, since Eddie normally works hundred-hour weeks, and spends the little free time he has doing laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning and hanging out with the cats. He has Mike and Bill over for dinner at least once a month, and he likes to go rock climbing with Ben whenever he finds the time, which isn’t often. Eddie isn’t lonely. He really isn’t. He has good friends who are almost always available when Eddie has the odd day off, and he has four wonderful cats who love him and never gets sick of him. And if he actually met up to one of these social gatherings he might meet a bunch of new great people and make some new friends - Eddie trusts Bill and Mike’s judgement of people enough to know that he would probably immediately like any and all of their friends. He isn’t lonely, he’s just busy. There’s a very distinct difference. He’s choosing to be alone, right now, to focus on his career. It’s alright. 

Getting everything packed up and carried into the moving van takes all day, and they spend all of Sunday carrying furniture into Bill and Mike’s new apartment, and cleaning out their old place. Eddie comes home Sunday evening even more exhausted than he did that Friday, and is not excited for his early commute and long workday the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @richietozieer on twt!


End file.
